TO THE SCRIBE OF SCRIBES[146]

By the G.o.ds of the poets, Apollo and Jove, By the muse who directs me, the spirits that move, I council you, Peter, once more, to retire Or satire shall pierce, with her arrows of fire.

Be careful to stop in your noisy career, Or homeward retreat, for your danger is near: The clouds are collecting to burst on your head, Their sulphur to dart, or their torrents to shed.

Along with the tears, I foresee you will weep, In the cave of oblivion I put you to sleep;-- This dealer in scandal, this bladder of gall, This sprig of Parna.s.sus must go to the wall.

From a star of renown in the reign of night He has dwindled away to a little rush-light: Then snuff it, and snuff it, while yet it remains And Peter will leave you the snuff for your pains.--

[146] From the edition of 1815.

TO THE AMERICANS OF THE UNITED STATES[147]

First published November, 1797

Men of this pa.s.sing age!--whose n.o.ble deeds Honour will bear above the sc.u.m of Time: Ere this eventful century expire, Once more we greet you with our humble rhyme: Pleased, if we meet your smiles, but--if denied, Yet, with Your sentence, we are satisfied.

Catching our subjects from the varying scene Of human things; a mingled work we draw, Chequered with fancies odd, and figures strange, Such, as no courtly poet ever saw; Who writ, beneath some Great Man's ceiling placed; Travelled no lands, nor roved the watery waste.

To seize some features from the faithless past; Be this our care--before the century close: The colours strong!--for, if we deem aright, The coming age will be an age of prose: When sordid cares will break the muses' dream, And Common Sense be ranked in seat supreme.

Go, now, dear book; once more expand your wings: Still in the cause of Man severely true: Untaught to flatter pride, or fawn on kings;-- Trojan, or Tyrian,[A]--give them both their due.-- When they are right, the cause of both we plead, And both will please us well,--if both will read.

[A] Tros, Tyriusque mihi nullo discrimine agetur.--Virg_.--Freneau's note._

[147] This was used as the introductory poem to Volume II of the 1809 edition.

TO A NIGHT-FLY[148]

Approaching a Candle

Attracted by the taper's rays, How carelessly you come to gaze On what absorbs you in its blaze!

O Fly! I bid you have a care: You do not heed the danger near; This light, to you a blazing star.

Already you have scorch'd your wings: What courage, or what folly brings You, hovering near such blazing things?

Ah me! you touch this little sun-- One circuit more and all is done!-- Now to the furnace you are gone!--

Thus folly with ambition join'd, Attracts the insects of mankind, And sways the superficial mind:

Thus, power has charms which all admire, But dangerous is that central fire-- If you are wise in time retire.--

[148] First published in the _Time-Piece_, December 8, 1797. Text from the edition of 1815.

THE INDIAN CONVERT[149]

An Indian, who lived at Muskingum, remote, Was teazed by a parson to join his dear flock, To throw off his blanket and put on a coat, And of grace and religion to lay in a stock.

The Indian long slighted an offer so fair, Preferring to preaching his fishing and fowling; A sermon to him was a heart full of care, And singing but little superior to howling.

At last by persuasion and constant hara.s.sing Our Indian was brought to consent to be good; He saw that the malice of Satan was pressing, And the means to repel him not yet understood.

Of heaven, one day, when the parson was speaking, And painting the beautiful things of the place, The convert, who something substantial was seeking, Rose up, and confessed he had doubts in the case.--

Said he, Master Minister, this place that you talk of, Of things for the stomach, pray what has it got; Has it liquors in plenty?--If so I'll soon walk off And put myself down in the heavenly spot.

You fool (said the preacher) no liquors are there!

The place I'm describing is most like our meeting, Good people, all singing, with preaching and prayer; They live upon these without eating or drinking.

But the doors are all locked against folks that are wicked; And you, I am fearful, will never get there:-- A life of Repentance must purchase the ticket, And few of you, Indians, can buy it, I fear.

Farewell (said the Indian) I'm none of your mess; On victuals, so airy, I faintish should feel, I cannot consent to be lodged in a place Where's there's nothing to eat and but little to steal.

[149] First published in the _Time-Piece_, December 11, 1797, under the t.i.tle, "Thomas Swagum, an Oneida Indian and a Missionary Parson." Text from the 1809 edition.

THE PETTIFOGGER,[150]

or Fee Simple, Esquire

In a town I could mention, a lawyer resided As cunning as Satan, and fond of disputes; In wrangles and quarrels he ever confided, To keep on his docquet a long string of suits.

Of little importance, nay, paltry and mean, The matter contested, a pig or a hen; But one thing he stuck to, he ever was seen To have for his pleading just one pound ten.

With pleasure he saw that the quarrels increased, Each day he had business from wranglesome men, But all to the 'squire was a holiday feast While he got his dear Fee, the one pound ten.